"...and that's the swanky reception!" I told my friend Christina, as we passed the offices of the music industry's Performing Right Society, located just off Oxford Street in London.
"It never looked that good in my day," I added, admiring the decor and recalling the 15 months I had spent working there. It was over a decade ago but as we gawped through the window, it almost felt like yesterday.
"And if you turn around now" I said softly "you'll even spot Feargal Sharkey."
I think she was expecting to see a photograph, but as my friend looked over her shoulder, she caught the eye of the man himself, now an aging 1980s pop star, once lead singer with the Undertones, engaged deeply in discussion with another man on the pavement, his Northern Ireland accent as distinct as ever. It was no surprise to see him there. Following a successful career as a performer, he has since worked behind the scenes and is currently Chief Executive Officer of British Music Rights.
She looked at him.
And he looked at her.
"Bloody hell, Feargal Sharkey's just eyeballed me!" she exclaimed, a moment that almost matched the excitement of the event that we'd attended that afternoon, The Romantic Novelist's Association's Awards Luncheon in South Kensington to which she'd invited me along as her guest.
She was used to burying her head in romantic novels but she wasn't used to spotting celebrities.
So as we turned the corner and walked along Goodge Street, heading in the direction of King's Cross station, she burst into song, performing one of Mr Sharkey's more well known tunes. "A good heart these days is hard to find, a true love, the lasting kind."
"What do you think he'd say if I ran back and sang to him" she quipped.
"I think he'd probably tell you to bugger off!"
"Or would that be 'Feck arf, you fecker'!?" she laughed, with a spirited dose of her nothern humour.
And that's how yesterday ended, with a trip down memory lane and wondering about her future as a romantic novelist, far away in London singing 1980s pop songs, and most importantly not a household chore in sight!
Total Distraction Points 10/10
That was yesterday, just a momentary glimpse of my past. Today, it's back down to domestic duties, thinking about the washing up, the laundry and going off to the market before I pick the kids up from school and take my eldest to Beavers.
Normality at its best!
And then there's my aim of mastering the role of a housewife!
Oh if only my mother-in-law was still alive. She’d have fallen off her chair in shock.
“
A career girl like you?” she would have said. "
Pretending to be a housewife when you can't even make the beds in the morning for want of more interesting things." She never did approve of the abstract works of art I could create with duvets.
"
Tut tut" she'd say. "
All it takes is a few minutes to straighten them out before running off to work".
If she could see me now. She'd be twiced as shocked, not just at the state of the messy beds but the fact that I'm still at home worrying about it. If she had been the betting type, she would have placed a wager on me getting back to the office no sooner had my babies been checked over and registered I was Mummy.
And before the children were born I would have agreed with her. But somehow nature took over and as the maternal instinct kicked in the thoughts of returning to work were firmly booted out! Don’t get me wrong. I was no earth mother and if I lived nearer to work, most likely I would have gone back like a shot as soon as my maternity leave was up. But work was in London and family life was 30 miles away in Hertfordshire.
Thirty miles might not seem far but seven years ago and the state of the rail service it might as well have been 130 and I was not going to take the risk of being caught on a broken-down train being unable to reach my little baby, not to mention the terrorist threats that followed 9/11. Our lives were too precious.
So I threw in the professional towel, gave notice to our cleaner and with all the maternal love I could muster, I opted for life at home with my pride and joy.
But slowing down to the pace of a baby was trickier than I had expected.
By then I'd moved on from the Performing Right Society to become a research manager for a Digital Rights Management consultancy in Waterloo, a life featuring a busy commute and a hectic work schedule which I'd like to think I tackled successfully. That fast pace of life was a part of me, something that I'd fostered in a career that had spanned 12 years. I found it hard to adapt to my new self, feeling out of control as a disorganised stay-at-home mum feeding a baby on-demand who fed for such a long time that I dissolved in a diet of day-time telly.
Where I would once revel in professional achievements I found I was unable to complete anything. Even a batch of laundry became a two-day cycle, not because of the growing amount of baby clothes but thanks to the interruptions that a new child brought.
My passion for cooking turned into a culinary challenge.
And with the amount of housework growing at an exponential rate, I crumpled, living 4 hours away from my family and no access to local support.
It's not as though we could even really afford this lifestyle and let's face it, feeling out-of-control on the homefront on just half a salary is not everyone's idea of domestic bliss. And at times it didn't feel like mine either, slowly losing my identity and and realising that my new measure of success was whether I made it to the shower by 9am had me questioning who I had become.
But the person I'd become was a mother and it what was important for me and my husband was that I was at home with our baby, watching him grow from a young infant to a babbling toddler, until there came a time when we couldn't afford for me to be out of work any longer and we needed to pay the mortgage.
And yes, all raring to go, and when he was 11 months old I quickly jumped into a full-time job that was local. An opportunity to get back into IT, get paid good money and allowed me the luxury of an undisturbed cup of char.
Back where I thought I belonged, leaving the housework behind.
But it never felt right, not for me anyway. I loved my independence but I missed my boy and saw him for such little time I began to feel like his babysitter. Then there was the clash of priorities when he got Chickenpox. Who could ditch their meetings and work commitments to look after him at home? Me or my husband? It was hard fought.
I realised that being caught between work priorities and my commitment as a mother was a challenge in itself. And I admire those who have to to it and indeed those who enjoy the option.
But that hard-to-balance lifestyle was not for me, which is why nine-months later I left to immerse myself in the role I gradually learnt to accept, pretending to be a housewife when all around me just collapsed into further chaos.
Yes the chaos. I'm looking at it now. I'm still domestically challenged.
Nothing's changed since I took that decision all those years ago.
But it's about to.
Forget pretending to be a housewife, immersing myself in every distraction. I'm off upstairs for some domestic karma.
My late mother-in-law would be proud.
I'm going to shake down those duvets and for the first time in ages...
...
I'm going to make the beds!Domestic Goddess Points: 1/10
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